


Solo Operation

by marznipan



Series: Disgracing Michael Langdon [2]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Hawthorne!Michael, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 21:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marznipan/pseuds/marznipan
Summary: Michael has some trouble with taunting and teasing from a teacher at Hawthorne, he didn’t know that their words would affect him the way that they did. Some friends pay a visit, too.





	Solo Operation

**Author's Note:**

> i also posted this here:  
> https://hawthornemichael.tumblr.com/  
> xox

Michael was  _seething._

He didn't know howfucking _John Henry Moore_  had gotten it into his thick skull that it would be appropriate to try and humiliate Michael in front of his peers, but somehow he had, and he had done a pretty good job of it too. Simply thinking about the event made his fingers twitch and jump involuntarily out of anger and a deep lust for revenge. Not that Michael wanted to congratulate him on doing anything, ever, but if Moore had been poking fun at any other student he was sure that he would have been stifling snickers behind his palm like everybody else was - but this was not the case. 

Cheeks hot and tinted rose from the humiliation, Michael had stormed from the classroom like a child throwing a tantrum, the tailored jacket of his uniform flapping behind him with almost as much vigor and emotion that he was feeling. He didn't want his classmates to see the tears brimming in the corners of his eyes - he didn't want them to think that he was a  _pussy_  or anything - because after all, wasn't he supposed to be the next supreme? His dorm room was his only salvation and as he slammed the door shut behind him, he let out a shaky breath and pushed his back against the tough wood, sliding down until his ass was seated on the floor and his knees were hugging tightly against his hitching chest. 

Stray hot droplets ran down his cheeks slowly at first, quickening their pace as they flung themselves onto the fabric of his trousers, his breath racing to catch up the speed of them. His uncontrollable, pathetic sobbing filled him with a deep sense of shame that wasn't very much unlike the embarrassment he was already feeling. Michael felt as though he had failed himself by cracking under John Henry's taunts and teasing. When he thought about the things he had said the aching pit in his stomach roared with a burning flame, filling him with the desperate need to curl up into a small ball, and the satisfaction that he would feel if he could get John Henry back for what he did somehow.

_'C'mon Langdon! You can't expect to get anything done if you spend all of your time ogling the other boys.'_

_'Ha! Look at how red you've gotten, don't tell me that I really caught you in the act.'_

_'I don't know who you think you're kidding, next supreme? You'd be better off with the witches playing with flowers, you'll never be a Warlock.'_

When he thought about the words and the way that the other Warlocks laughed at him, his body tightened, the muscles in his legs flexing and then relaxing again, abdomen hot with shame and something much stronger, something that he was much more embarrassed to admit. His sudden onslaught of tears wasn't the only thing that made Michael dash from the classroom, it was the tent that he could already feel forming in his pants from being talked down to and chastised. Scolded, like a petulant child. He was aware that he needed a firm hand to knock him into his place, but he didn't know that he would long for that almost 'fatherly' figure in someone like John Henry Moore, a man who he was very sure hated the very ribbon that decorated his shirt's collar. 

The more he thought about the bitter words that were spat at him with lashings of hatred and jealousy, the more he started to leak into his underwear, the very last dregs of his dignity dribbling from the tip of his lonely cock. Maybe John Henry  _was_  the man he needed to tell him what to do, and praise him when he did something right. Or maybe he just liked the attention and humiliation that he seemed to have an endless supply of when it came to Michael Langdon. 

Without another thought, he hastily unbuckled his belt and crammed his hands into his pants, grasping at his weeping cock.

If he had not have been so wrapped up in his own crying and impure thoughts, he would have heard the 'shh-ing' and shuffling of dress shoes against the wooden floor outside of his bedroom door, as a few of his classmates had congregated outside. They had originally chased after him to ask if he was alright and to remind him that Moore didn't really mean what he said, he was just frazzled with the shock of a new student so suddenly, but when they heard the hiccuping and sobbing from the other side of the door, they decided to stay for some free entertainment. 

With a sharp inhale, Michael's fingers brushed against the tip of his cock, smearing the abundance of pre-cum down the length of his shaft slowly, letting the pad of his thumb trace over every bulging vein and ridge. Once his fingers had ghosted from tip to base, he wrapped his hand around himself fully, accidentally squeezing a little bit tighter than he should have. 

"A-ah..." Escaped his lips at his grip, barely more than a whisper, breathy, but thick with curiosity and desperation.

Michael didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't as well versed in this as he would like to think that he was. His overnight growth-spurt left gaps in his knowledge on many topics, including his own body, and attempting to touch himself under the knitted blankets from Miriam Mead felt wrong. He was always worried that he was making too much noise, or that he would make a mess of the sheets. Imagining the conversation that he would have to have with her put him off the act for quite a while. 

But now that he had been given the gift of privacy (or so he thought) he decided that now was the best time to get rid of all that pent-up teenage angst that he hadn't been expecting  _at all._

 _With a lighter grip this time,_ he pumped himself gently, trying his hardest to mover slowly so that he could have the luxury of working himself up, but failing miserably as he started to buck his hips speedily into his hands, small gasps and grunts flowing from his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Ugnn... I- Fuck..." Michael's words got caught at the back of his throat as he focused on his mushroom tip, flushed pink and leaking more than ever. His hand bounced quickly over the tip, creating an embarrassingly wet noise with every twist of his wrist. "Please, please...I n-need it."

His empty hand wandered down to cradle his balls, cold from resting against the wooden flooring,  warming them back up again in his sweaty palm, eyes rolling back into his head as he did so. With fluttering eyelashes he began to stroke himself quickly, aching to get off after teasing himself -  _Just as John Henry had_  - for so long. Slack jawed, Michael had forgotten all about the fact that he wasn't home alone and had started to let louder, more lewd and whiny moans come out of his mouth. A long string of drool dripped from the corer of his open mouth as he started to rub himself as quickly as his arms would let him, his body rocking with the movements. "I'll never be a Warlo-hngg".

Blonde curls that were usually styled to perfection had started to fall from grace, dropping from their usual position and resting against his forehead messily. A particularly hard thrust of his hips into his sloppy hand made Michael bite his lip and throw his head back in pleasure, bumping against the wood of the door and letting out a groan he most certainly wouldn't want Miriam to hear. 

The boys behind the door had to cover their mouths with their hands to avoid blowing their covers. They hadn't caught onto exactly what Michael had been doing behind the door until a strained  _'fuck!'_  graced their ears, accompanied by an increasingly wet sound. They instantly jumped to the conclusion that their classmate, Michael, was getting his rocks off while they were standing barely centimetres away. The only thing between them and the image of him with his throbbing cock out was the wooden door, the wooden door that they would mind opening even if it was just to see his face of surprise... and possibly completion. 

An almost sinister smirk spread across one of the boys lips as a plan started to hatch in his head, he knew that he would be able to hold this over Michael for probably eternity, the thought of having something like this to blackmail the guy who was supposed to be the next supreme almost made him want to bang one out, too. 

Michael was getting closer than ever and his body was screaming at him to let go. His hand had stopped fondling his balls a little while ago and was resting against his leg, gripping at the fabric as if he was trying to keep himself planted on the ground. As his orgasm drew nearer, his body has started to become unbearably hot, leaving him breathless and sticky in between strokes, the thin fabric of his white school shirt sticking to the skin on his stomach. Roughly, his hand reached up and grabbed at the black, silk bow that was tied ever so neatly around his collar and yanked it free from its knot, leaving the fabric crumpled in his hand. He would always spend so much time in the morning trying to get that right, he wasn't sure why he was being forced to wear it with his uniform as it shattered the 'Alpha Male' attitude that all of the students seemed to have - maybe it was for the teachers entertainment, watching young men fighting for dominance between their peers with pretty bows around their necks. With another violent pull, his shirt was open slightly, revealing his collarbone and bouncing Adam's apple. The button that had been ripped from the thread by his needy hands rolled across the floor and under his bed, never to be seen again.

Another minute barely had the chance to pass before Michael was whining and writhing on the floor like a wanton slut. "I- I think I'm cuh-hhnn..." dripped from his lips like honey, a fucked-out smile plastered on his flushed face. Fucking up into his own hand as his cum bubbled and burped from the tip of his cock, jumping up and then landing on his hands, trousers and floor making a terrible mess. His head lolled forwards lazily, dropping down ever so slightly which allowed him to nuzzle into his own shoulder.

For the umpteenth time today, the boys behind the door were hiding giggles behind their hands as they listen to Michael finally make himself cum. They weren't expecting the guy who had been 'bigged-up' everyday by Ariel since the day he had arrived to sound like such a fucking needy virgin. Maybe this guy hadn't even got his dick wet? The possibility of that made the boys' eyes fill with tears of hushed laughter. 

They pulled faces at once and other, mimicking what they thought Michael's face had looked like when he had finished himself off. They were being unnecessarily vulgar about the way his eyes would roll back into his head and how his mouth would open into a round 'O' shape. They bit their lips tightly, letting their gaze cast down towards the floor and their hair flop down onto their foreheads, attempting to look sexy and dark and they imagined he did. The boys weren't sure if they were crossing the line of actually complimenting the way Michael looked while he touched himself, or if they were still simply dancing along the path of where mocking and admiration meet. 

Despite their laughter, they would very much liked to have seen Michael right now, messy and un-kept, flushed and partly undressed. A large part of their hatred for him stemmed from the fact that he had always looked so well groomed and perfect, they didn't understand how he managed to look so soft while still being more powerful than all three of them combined. 

Michael wasn't sure why a certain group of boys stared him down the way they did when he walked past or why they whispered mean things to him on an evening before he retreated to his room, but he wasn't exactly complaining. Although, after a few nights of him leaning against his door with his hands in his pants, affected by their cutting comments, he was sure that he could hear the same wet noises that he was making behind the wooden door. 


End file.
